Seeing Her
by yumi michiyo
Summary: "Gone were the early days, in which Anna had lain perfectly still so that Elsa could map out her girlfriend in her mind..." A Café Liégeois-verse Elsanna oneshot. Rated for adult content.


**Author's Notes:** A smutty, fluffy Elsanna interlude that takes place in the Café Liégeois universe, somewhere in between chapters 5 and 6.

Due credit goes to **4mation**, for letting me play with his versions of Elsa and Anna in his universe, and whose birthday is the reason this was even written in the first place. Happy birthday, pleb jailbait! Have a great day, and may you continue to frown on my shipping choices for a long time to come!

* * *

When Anna stays over at my place, she usually gets me to read to her.

Even if I can't see them, I know people raise their eyebrows when I mention that fact to them; I'm well aware that reading aloud isn't one of the things you'd expect a blind person to do. But surprisingly enough (even to myself), I find it easy to translate the series and patterns of dots into words for Anna. She's an excellent listener, she gasps and hums at all the right moments, and I don't doubt that she's enjoying the experience as much as I do.

"So, what'll it be tonight?" I ask, sitting cross-legged on my parents' overstuffed couch in the living room. It's more comfortable than my bed, honestly, and my parents aren't around to tease us.

Rustling from the bookcase, and the sound of hardcover books being shuffled on their shelves. "They're heavy," complains Anna, her voice a little strained as she wrestles with the books.

I roll my eyes. "They're written in Braille, Anna," I say, keeping my tone as sarcasm-free as I can, "they have raised dots embossed on heavy paper, you know? For blind people who can't see printed words?"

"None of your sass, young lady." The couch depresses beside me, and I know she's flung herself down. "Here." A book slides onto my lap, followed by Anna herself, gingerly moving. I laugh and wrap her arms around her waist, clumsily kissing her cheek.

The rustle of pages tells me she's opened the book. "Read," she commands, taking my hands from her waist and placing them on the pages.

"The Snow Queen, by Hans Christian Andersen," I read aloud, quirking an eyebrow. "Again?" Anna giggles and shifts in my lap. I feel warm lips pressed to my raised eyebrow.

Even if I won't admit it, I'm glad she's chosen this story. I settle back, my fingers gliding over the Braille, even though I already know the words by heart. "Once upon a time, there lived two best friends, Kai and Gerda. Gerda was a sweet-faced peasant girl – "

I break off, startled, as my hands are gently lifted off the pages and pressed to soft warmth. Anna's face. "Describe her," she says, the skin moving as she talks, hot breath ghosting on my fingers.

I smirk. _Such a little tease_, I think, but I don't say it aloud. I play along, obliging her; my fingertips graze over Anna's features, stroking her cheek, following the curve of her jawline, skimming the bridge of her nose. I'm careful to deliberately brush my thumb over her lips, and Anna sighs.

"Beautiful," I say quietly, meaning it. Anna presses a quick kiss to my thumb.

"Really?"

I fake surprise, raising my eyebrows. "_Gerda_ was beautiful," I clarify, fighting back a smile as Anna huffs.

"What do you know about beauty anyway?" she snarks, tweaking my nose to let me know she doesn't mean it.

"Just because I'm blind," I say, "that doesn't mean I can't see."

"Apart from your dreams?"

I can feel my cheeks heating, but I nod. "That's right."

Anna's quiet for a moment. "Touch me." The book slowly slides off our laps, forgotten.

"Wait, what?"

"You've drawn me, that means you know what I look like, right?"

I'm at a loss for words; even if Anna _is_ the auburn-haired beauty in my dreams, the princess who loves me, she isn't _my_ Anna. The warm, comforting presence in my lap. My rock. The person whom I nearly lost because of my stupid irrational fear over my eyes. I nuzzle into the crook of her neck and she giggles.

"It's not quite the same."

I hear her hum thoughtfully, and then my hands are lifted again. "You tell me," she says, her body shifting in my lap, placing my hands on her face.

I frown as I attempt to keep track of her position mentally. "Anna, are you sitting comfortably?"

"Don't worry about me! I'm fine!"

"... Whenever you say that, it isn't exactly reassuring."

"Oh, psssh," she says, but I feel her weight lift from my legs and move to the seat beside me; my hands are replaced on her cheeks. She's sitting opposite me now.

"Better?"

"Much," I say. She chuffs a laugh; warm breath tickles my fingers.

My fingertips skim her cheeks first, feeling the curve and dip where her cheekbones are. "Soft," I say, stroking her skin lightly.

I feel her smile, and the landscape shifts beneath my hands. My index finger dips into a groove. "Dimples?"

"I have two."

Obediently, my left thumb traces the other side of her mouth; Anna's grinning now, though I can't tell if she's amused by my investigation or ticklish.

My hands move inwards now and meet at the tip of her nose. She wrinkles it, and I murmur an apology.

"No, no," she says quickly. "You didn't hurt me, Elsa." Her hands are touching my elbows, caressing them. "Don't stop… I like it."

I give her a smile to let her know everything's all right. Gently, my thumbs brush the bridge of her nose. It's pert, but apart from that, I can't tell if it's an exceptionally beautiful nose. I don't even care.

My fingers find the coarse hair of her eyebrows. A little lower; her eyelashes flutter as she blinks reflexively. "May I…?" I whisper.

"You may."

She closes her eyes. I brush her eyelid with the side of my thumb; the right first, and then the left. Soft, quivering. Warm. Unlike my own frozen eyes. So beautiful.

"Yours are beautiful too," Anna whispers, and I realize I've spoken aloud.

"Beautifuller," I whisper back, and her body shakes with laughter.

My hand trails upward, finding the slope of her forehead and her soft fringe. "I like your hair," I say, teasing it away with my fingers, rewarding her patience with a gentle kiss to her bared forehead.

"You can be the president and sole member of the Anna's Hair fanclub. Yours is so much nicer." Her own hands are in my braid, tugging gently at the strands, teasing the loose hairs that have escaped.

"So I'm told. I'll take your word for it," I joke. My hands outline her face, ghosting over her ears (Anna squirms a little), and I trace her jawline with my thumbs, following the smooth line to the point of her chin. "But seriously. There's a fanclub?"

"Oh, shut up," she retorts fondly. I shake my head.

"Wait," says Anna a little petulantly before my hands can move down to her neck. "You're forgetting something."

"I haven't forgot; how can I forget the part of your face I'm best acquainted with?" I say, equally as petulantly, tapping her jaw for her impertinence.

"Just so you know."

I accede to her demand. I drag my fingertips slowly, the contact feather-light, over her smooth skin until I find the raised flesh of her lips. I draw their plump, round shape; I see them in my mind, clearer than any dream.

My thumb brushes against her lips; Anna sighs and they part. I feel wetness.

"Mmm," I say distractedly, "my hands aren't sensitive enough to appreciate this."

She's laughing at me; I can feel it. Her grin is wide, barely-suppressed. "So what're you going to do?" she asks breathily (albeit a little muffled) under my fingertips.

I lean in slowly, careful to judge the distance. Kissing her slowly, her familiar flavour fills my senses. My hands are relegated back to the sides of her face, holding her steady.

Anna kisses me back and I'm dimly aware of her hands, previously resting at my waist, now pulling me closer to her.

I tilt my head and slide my lips to the corner of her mouth. She sighs. Encouraged, I kiss over her cheek and upwards, my lips brushing her eyelids, the bridge of her nose, her forehead…

It's better than using my hands. I feel my cheeks heating up – this is so intimate, so private. I feel so much more, my lips pressed to her skin, worshipping her, wanting her. This close, I can smell her; the floral scent of her shampoo, that warmth that is uniquely Anna. She smells good.

A breath escapes my parted lips, tickling her skin. Anna moans softly. I stroke her cheek with my hand.

"Tease," she murmurs.

I shrug. "I did nothing of the sort."

"You're adorable," is all she says, and then she's leaning forward, kissing me again.

One of the hardest things about being blind is not being able to appreciate your partner's beauty; especially one as charming as Anna. She blushes about a hundred times a day for a variety of reasons, and sometimes I wish I could see them all, possibly distinguish the differences between them (if any), appreciate the adorkableness that is Anna.

Adorkableness? Oh God, I'm picking up her atrocious slang.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks, tapping my cheek lightly to emphasize her playful annoyance. Since becoming my friend, she's learned to express herself more… _physically_, for lack of a better word since I can't see her (and Anna's expressions are complicated, I'll be the first to admit). In the past, I would rush to apologise, thinking she was really annoyed, _she'd _apologise, and the mood would be irrevocably ruined.

"You," I reply, and start kissing down her neck. It's not a real answer, and from the way she's shifting, she's about to let me know.

"That's not a real answer."

"I know, I just wanted to see your reaction," I say in a deadpan tone. There's a pause; I can practically feel her furrowing her brow in concentration. I can't keep the smile from my face.

"Elsa, you can't actually – "

"– no, I can't. I was just teasing."

"See, you_ are_ a tease." I can feel her smirking now. I move up, kiss her cheek. She makes a low growling sound; I feel her hands cup my head, pull me in so she can kiss me properly.

I love how she's so gentle with me – and that being said, she can treat me like a normal person when it matters. I mean, it can be terrifying when a hand touches me out of nowhere. Back in the early stages of our friendship, Anna was always careful to announce what she was doing so I could position myself, prepare for whatever she was going to do.

Even as a lover, she always lets me know what she's thinking, what she's feeling, what she wants me to do, what she wants to do to me…

But being the blind one, I'm allowed to take liberties.

My hand slips down her side and she makes an 'eep'ing sound. "Elsa!"

"Oh, sorry," I say nonchalantly. "Are you ticklish?"

"You are _not_ sorry at all, and you _know_ I'm ticklish and – " The rest of her words are lost as I find the hem of her shirt and slip my hand underneath. I kiss her again, while she's too surprised to react.

I break away, resting my forehead against hers, listening to the sound of her breathing.

"What time will your parents be home, again?" she finally asks.

I frown and think back to my last conversation with them. "Not for a while," I answer. Her hands are – oh my. My heart misses a beat as I feel heated fingers under my shirt sliding upwards. That was _quick_.

"So," she says again, this time with quite a bit of smugness in her voice, "I think we have just enough time for me to fuck you senseless on the couch."

"Just you?" I ask, trying to distract her, already feeling quite hot under the collar. Her fingers are caressing my spine in a very distracting manner, gliding upwards and –

"Anna!" My face is flaming, I'm certain. That little minx has undone my bra straps!

"Just you first, at the very least," she says, and I'm pushed back, lying flat on the couch. I'm still dressed – I can feel the fabric on my upper body – but I'm pretty sure it's all in disarray, thanks to Anna. I can't really complain, though, when she places her hands on my chest. My breath hitches.

Anna notices. "Elsa? Everything okay?"

"Y-yeah, I'm fine."

She's silent, humming thoughtfully. "Hmm. Why don't we do it this way?"

"What?"

And then I'm being pulled up by surprisingly strong hands, a quick kiss pressed to my lips, and then my own hands are pressed to her – oh God, are those her _breasts_?

"Touch me then," she purrs, and it's an invitation to do that and so much more. I can feel my face heating.

I start slow. My hands move down her sides, defining her. Anna sighs; it's encouraging. She's wearing a simple shirt, but the fabric's barely there – I can feel her heated skin underneath. "_Breathe_, Elsa," she says teasingly. I'm too flustered to respond snarkily.

My hands aren't enough. I bend to kiss her chest, feeling her breasts pressing against my face as I do so. Her hands wrap around my waist again, pushing under my clothes in a very distracting fashion.

"What are those hands doing?" I rasp.

Anna laughs and strokes my naked back, her finger flicking the undone bra straps. "Getting comfortable."

I lift my head to the source of her voice and raise an eyebrow. "Getting comfortable? Really?"

"Well, you look like you've been having fun feeling me up, so I get a turn too, don't I?"

"Feeling you up!" I echo like a distressed parrot. "How lewd of you, missy, considering you're the one who wanted me to touch you!"

"Oh, Elsa," she purrs, and suddenly she's so close, and her hot breath is tickling my cheek, "just touching?" Her hand caresses my other cheek. My mouth is suddenly dry as her implication sinks in.

"Um."

She giggles. Anna's body (that perfect, perfect body) is pressed to mine and it's getting harder to focus. I may be blind, but I'm not stupid; I know all about biological reproduction in humans. More importantly, I know what two girls can do to each other. Late-night Google searches with my headphones on (so my parents can't hear what I've been browsing) have exposed me, so to speak, to the wonders of sex.

I realise my hands haven't moved from her hips for the last five minutes; with a laugh, Anna gives them a squeeze. "You can touch, you know," she says teasingly, and there's just a faintest hint of need lacing the words.

I smirk back. "Are you desperate then?"

"No, absolutely not. Just waiting here for my gorgeous girlfriend to pounce on me in the throes of raging lust, and make wild passionate animal love to me."

"... what have you been reading? Atrocious smutty fanfiction?"

"Hey, they're not that bad!"

"Anna, they're clearly written by hormonal 13-year-olds who probably got their sketchy knowledge of sex from other equally sketchy fanfiction, and probably dissolve into immature giggling whenever someone says 'penis' or 'vagina'."

"They don't say those words. They use euphemisms like 'meatstick' and 'lovehole'," says Anna, her voice even. I choke.

"God, are you serious?"

"I couldn't make that up if I tried. Also, I prefer to be called Anna."

"Very funny. I'm dating a klutz, and now a comedian? Will your talents never end?"

"I also have pretty good taste in girlfriends," says Anna. Her hands are sliding up my chest and I fervently hope she doesn't notice how hard and fast my heart is beating. "Hey, if you know about fanfiction, does that mean you're a veritable font of experience? Teach me, Master."

I force myself to smirk. "Patience you must have, my young Padawan." I dip my head to the crook of her neck, kissing that spot under her jaw which always gets her to melt.

Anna sighs with pleasure. "You're... quoting Yoda." Her hands are rubbing my back, urging me to continue. I gladly do so. My tongue darts out, licks the shell of her ear. I press my teeth there briefly, and then smooth the spot over with my lips.

"You're good at this." Her breathy voice hums through her skin; a jolt of pleasure which makes my core tighten. I assuage the lust somewhat by kissing her again, while my hands slip up her shirt and find her breasts. I roll the (very, very) hard nipples between my fingers. Anna's hips jerk in response and she bites off a gasp.

"_Very_ good." I feel her hands attempting to touch me, but I bite down on the side of her neck as my hands continue to play with the firm flesh (her breasts are the only ones apart from my own that I've touched, and I never want to touch another pair). Faint rustling around my legs tells me her arms have fallen to her sides. "Idiot," Anna says in a half-moan, half-whisper.

Cloth greets my mouth when I dip lower; while hiked up, her shirt is still an obstacle. I feel Anna shift underneath me, her body moving as she helps me pull the shirt up and over her head, and discard it. Her bra is quick to follow, and I squeeze her nipples gratefully.

I'm nothing if not a perfectionist; determined to do this properly, I return my attention to the crook of her neck, my tongue, teeth, and lips worshipping every inch of her soft skin. _Mine_, I tell her with every lick, every kiss, every bite.

_Yours_, she tells me as she moves beneath me, every thrust of her hips driving the emphasis. Her hands loop around my neck, gripping the fine hairs there, and I know I'm doing something right when she _pulls_.

"_Elsa_..." She is the only person I know who can make my name sound sexually charged. Anna's pulling down, trying to speed up my teasing tongue which is currently still outlining her collarbone, tasting the skin on and around. I suck experimentally, and she hisses.

"Stop teasing me, damnit!"

I press a chuckle to her heaving chest. "It's not my fault you're so impatient." My tongue flicks the sensitive skin of her chest between her breasts. _And oh, is she impatient_. I take one nipple into my mouth, suckling and licking, while my hand tends to the other. Anna makes a choked sighing sound which is uniquely her, and I find it incredibly adorable.

It also goes straight to my crotch, but I don't say anything.

I have one hand free; it doesn't waste time, cupping the line of her buttock over the denim shorts she's wearing and trailing further down one thigh. She makes another sound like the first, and then my neck prickles as it's exposed to the air, and Anna's hips are moving again, the couch undulating under my knees. I catch the rustle of fabric as she moves to take off her shorts.

"Don't," I say thickly around her nipple. "Let me."

"You're so slow," she groans with some degree of frustration, but her hands move obediently to my hips.

I grin and tilt my face in her direction. "You can take them off if you want," I say, trying to keep my voice even. "My clothes, that is." This is it; I'm going to lose my virginity on the big, overstuffed couch in my parents' living room.

"Are you sure?" Anna's noticed, of course. Her hands are gone, and then back on my face, caressing my cheeks. Trust her to forget about her arousal just to make sure I'm okay. I don't know what I did to deserve her, but every day I'm slowly beginning to think that the day a clumsy barista approached me, was the best day of my life.

I smile, hoping I'm putting all the warmth, the love, the happiness, the contentment Anna makes me feel every day, in my expression. "I'm sure," I say gently. I shift my weight to one hand, so the other can touch her cheek; I have to trail my fingers up her body, establishing reference points, so I don't poke her in the eye or something like that. It also has the unintended effect of making Anna shiver deliciously – unintended, but definitely not unwanted.

I lean down so I can touch my forehead to hers. "I love you," I say, because I'm a huge romantic (not that I would admit it out loud, but it's pretty much an open secret as far as my goofy girlfriend is concerned) and I want to prolong this moment, this milestone for us, for me. Anna sighs. "I love you too," she replies, her voice trembling.

While I'm kissing her hard and deep, my hand's already dipping into the waistband of her shorts, flicking the button. She sighs into the kiss; it hitches when I undo the front and press my palm into the front of her panties.

"Soaked."

Anna giggles. It's both endearing and oddly arousing. Wiggling her hips, she quickly shucks off her shorts. I hear the rustle of denim sliding off the sofa.

Right. It's time. Trying my best to keep my heart out of my throat, I kiss down her stomach, my thumbs tracing her hips. She smells wonderful; this heady scent that is uniquely Anna. I pause, drinking her in. She was right, all those weeks ago; it's incredibly erotic, not being able to see, but more than making up for it with smell, touch, sound, taste...

Even though it doesn't make any difference, I close my eyes. There's that faint flowery scent from her soap, I think; lavender? Jasmine? But it's faint, only enhancing that natural warm scent of _Anna_ that is everywhere. Intoxicating. Her skin is warm under my hands, my body, her soft shapely body mine to touch. There's muscle underlying her feminine curves; her body like my own, and yet so different. I hear her breathing, slightly ragged from arousal.

Anna responds to my touch with little gasps and sighs, letting me know how much she's enjoying it.

All of this, naturally, isn't helping my own state. I manage to avoid crossing my legs.

I might have moaned. Might. I don't remember. All I know is my tongue caressing the sides of her thighs, my nose buried in her curls.

Her legs move, and I sense her eyes on me. She doesn't say anything, though. When I move my mouth, she moans something unintelligible.

I peel her panties away and she helps enthusiastically, lifting her hips, kicking the damp fabric around one ankle. Pressing one hand to the inside of her thigh, I'm rewarded with a gasp. My fingers brush heated, damp skin.

Both of my hands are there now. I slide them up to her crotch and after a moment's hesitation, slip a finger into her folds.

Anna moans.

I start to stroke her; the long and languorous rhythm that I prefer, building up a rhythm. I'm careful to lavish care on her clit, circling with my thumb. Each movement draws gasps and sighs from her.

"Let me know if you don't like anything, okay?" I remind her. Anna huffs loudly. "Just keep doing – _ohh_ – what you're doing 'cause – _hnnnh_ – it feels _amazing_."

I feel my cheeks burn. "You're amazing," I mumble back. My confidence is building with each moment. I'm not used to being with another person, but Anna is doing wonders for my belief in my skills. I focus on the beautiful woman before me, ignoring the sticky heat between my own thighs.

I shift backwards, putting one foot on the floor, easing my head between Anna's legs. At my touch, they hover in the air; Anna lets me guide them down gently on my shoulders where it's comfortable for me. I kiss one calf in thanks.

Her back arches when I touch my tongue to the swollen, heated lips down there. I lick around her engorged nub, trying to concentrate, recalling what I've read in steamy, actually well-written fanfiction...

I'd admit to indulging in that, but I can't think of anything else at the moment.

"Faster..." Anna groans, and her hips jerk up when I suckle. Her hands are in my hair – I don't remember them being there - gripping tightly. "Elsa – I'm close – "

I insert a finger into her and pump, my tongue continuing to lick. She mewls. It's wetter and tighter and I need more friction. Another finger.

With a cry, Anna's back arches, her body trembling, her fingers digging painfully into my scalp. I couldn't care less; I hold on, riding out her orgasm with her.

Her touch turns gentle, and palms cup my face, pulling me up slowly. "Come here," murmurs Anna, her voice sated and heavy, and she kisses me deeply, her tongue probing my mouth, tasting herself. "Elsa... that was amazing."

"Really?" I'm too taken aback to be playful.

"Really." Her body is wet with sweat, the skin hot to touch. "I want to make you feel all of it."

"Oh." There isn't much variety in how one can respond to something like that. I hear her laugh, and then her hands are on my chest, pressing gently at my shoulders, her hot, hot tongue already lapping at my neck; she alternates teeth and tongue in a way that drives me crazy.

I don't even remember losing my clothing. All I know is _Anna_ on every inch of skin. I allow myself to fall backward on the plush sofa, Anna's weight hovering pleasantly over me. Her hands on my breasts. Her mouth on my neck. My chest. My –

Oh god she's _fast_. I throw my head back, letting the pleasurable sensations fill my body. "_Anna_," I manage, drawing out the last syllable, the last of my breath catching in my throat as she -

Oh. My. I _can't_ –

"Anna," I pant; my hips rock involuntarily. My legs shift, seeking release. My hands are scrambling for leverage, but I force myself to be gentle, to roam up Anna's body and find a place to hold on to. "Anna, I –" I want to tell her she's driving me over the edge, I need her now, I can't hold it back –

But then she touches me _there_ again, and I'm gone. It's a lot faster than I expected, but then again, I'm already so aroused, it doesn't surprise me at all.

She's lying on me now; all warmth and heavy breathing and practically radiating a smugness I don't need to be able to see to know. "Hi," she says, touching my cheek and kissing me.

"Hi," I reply when we've parted for air. My arms are around her waist, holding her close. For some reason I'm terrified she'll fall off the couch. Anna shifts herself into a more comfortable position, and I inhale sharply when I feel sticky wetness on my thigh.

"Yes, that was me," she says with a giggle, sounding completely unabashed. "Your fault, just so you know."

"Oh?" I say weakly. I'm certain my face is tomato-red again, and not from our activities. All she does is giggle, nuzzling her face into the crook of my neck.

"We should probably get dressed soon." I shift, my hand feeling around the floor for our clothes. Anna laughs. "Here, let me..." She climbs over me and is gone. Before I can feel her absence, a soft weight plops on my naked stomach.

"Yours," she says. "Need help getting dressed?"

"I can manage just fine," I say, sitting up, holding my chin high with mock-dignity. I sort through the clothes; my bra, my panties, my shirt and pants. Anna's struggling back into her clothes.

"Is my hair a mess?" I ask.

There's a pause. "It's a good mess," she responds at last. "Like stylishly messy. You know, an edgy fashion statement?"

"That's hardly good!" I gasp, my hands flying upwards, fingers combing through the tresses. I rebraid my hair and throw it over my shoulder.

"I liked it better as a fashion statement."

"You can be the only one. How's your hair, anyway?"

"More or less the same." Something heavy's placed in my lap. "Shall we continue where you left off?"

I quirk an eyebrow. "Me? You were the one who got distracted."

Anna sits down, her body warm against mine. "You're the one who wanted to touch."

I let her crawl back into her spot in my lap, and my hands find their place on the paper. I continue telling her about the boy who was abducted by the Snow Queen, and her brave and loyal best friend to set out to bring him home.

* * *

**Further Author's Notes: **As a denizen of The Pit for many years, I have actually seen the 'euphemisms' Anna uses in actual fanfiction. Like Anna, I can't make this stuff up if I tried either.


End file.
